


I despise Franz Liszt

by If_you_had_had_a_sister



Series: Franz Liszt and Frédéric Chopin [5]
Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Classical Music RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: Hate to Love, M/M, Piano Concert, Pining, Secret Admirer, maybe crushing who knows??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:42:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28556310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/If_you_had_had_a_sister/pseuds/If_you_had_had_a_sister
Summary: Chopin starts out hating Liszt. Despising him to the point of flaming hatred.But when Liszt follows him home after a concert, Chopin finds out that the man maybe isn’t so bad after all.Told through the diary of Frédéric Chopin.
Relationships: Frédéric Chopin/Franz Liszt
Series: Franz Liszt and Frédéric Chopin [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108409
Kudos: 9





	1. After a concert

5 January 1833, late at night after a long day of composing and coughing at the piano.

I despise Franz Liszt. Yes, I do. He’s far too overrated, and if I were to take a jump from his ego to his piano talent, I would break multiple bones, if not decease. Every time he sits by the piano, the girls swoon, and their wealthy parents clap their fat little hands. His music is nothing more than flamboyant show off. Always using the hardest techniques, whilst moving his body and making faces on stage, like some kind of whore. If this is what is the cause of his popularity, then the music world is rotten. Rotten, I say! They don’t know proper talent nor music. And all the people who show up to his concerts and write him letters. Sheeple! Doesn’t even dare to judge art for themselves. 

And don’t even get me started on his physical appearance. I have not seen the likes, in my 23 years of existence. His big square face, paper thin lips and loose hair, hanging down by his face! What has fashion become! No wonder all the girls ask him for locks of his hair, there’s so much he could give a foot or so to every girl and their moms in all of Paris.

And always selling out, giving multiple shows a week, just milking all of his fame and popularity. When he writes, he swallows all the notes and cords and turn them into utter bashfulness!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

6 January 1833, early morning 

Yet I still went to a concert of his last evening. Just to scoff at the abomination, that is him abusing that instrument and everyone who enjoys it. After two hours of trying not to rush up from my seat and leave, it was finally over and he stood up to receive the cheers of the crowd, like the greedy little composer he is. 

After the cheers, I got up and headed straight for the exit. Apparently I didn’t notice him leaving quickly as well, because as soon as I stepped out on the street, he rushed out of the back door and over to me. “Master Chopin! Chopin!” He stopped me. 

“Herr Liszt?” I exclaimed in surprise and terror.  
“You showed up to my concert! Oh such an honor.” He went to grab my hand and kiss it. I pulled it back in disgust, as soon as possible, though I noticed my cheeks had reddened.  
“Yes, I did. It’s not the first time either, but I suppose you didn’t notice.”  
“Oh, I did! I just didn’t get the chance to greet you. With the attention, and all”. He said, his ego really shining through in the last sentence. How disgusting.

“Oh, yes of course. Now, you will have to excuse me, I am receiving guests this evening.” I lied, no one would want to dine with me. But anything to get rid of the fool.  
“Oh, but let me at least follow you home, that would be the greatest honor.” Liszt hit me with one of those Liszt looks. Slightly furrowed brows, parted lips, a sort of sad yet moaning expression. 

I considered for a moment. On one hand, I would never have it with myself if I did, but I would also be seen as improper by the whole music society in Paris if I turned down his request.  
“Fine, then. Please do follow me home.” I said, only letting out a small smile.  
“Oh, thank you master Chopin! I assure you, you won’t regret it a bit.”  
Hah, if he only knew!


	2. I was quite wrong

6 January 1833, midday 

We then started walking. At first none of us said a thing, until Liszt opened his mouth.  
“Master Chopin, I really do eh... enjoy your music. It has such a... such a different feeling.“ You should hear him struggling to compliment someone who wasn’t himself, it was comical, but some sincerity shone through. I was honestly quite surprised, still am quite surprised, by the compliment. But I still despise him, with all of my small being!

“Thank you, Sir. A pleasure.” I said stiffly, and avoided eye contact, turning my newly grown sideburn to him.  
“Hm.” He let out.  
“Master, are you good? You seem quite... how do I say... off mood? Is it your iln-“

“Don’t you mention that, at least not in front of me. It’s a deeply personal matter, that I DON’T appreciate you touching upon! Anything but that.” My mood was actually very off put, but it had nothing to do with... that. I admit, I almost yelled at him in the streets or at least hissed at him. That’s one moment, I’ve felt sympathy for him.  
“Excuse my manners.”

“Oh I apologize. I didn’t realize that’s how you felt. Please do forgive me?”  
As you can imagine, I was utterly confused at how Franz Liszt of all people showed, compassion and understanding for a mediocrity like me. I was taken aback.  
“No, I’m sorry... but did you- did you just apologize to me. Oh excuse my manners, I’m really not myself today.”  
“Why of course, I did. Apologized like any decent man.”  
He keeps surprising. 

We walked in silence for some more time, me mostly in shock, when a group of 3 girls, not 20 years of age, walked past us, all giggling with their men by their arms.  
When they passed, Liszt’s gaze followed them until they were some distance away. He then turned his face back at me.  
“Oh did you see those girls? I haven’t seen someone like that, since I was back in east Europe! But here in France?”

“They were also southern polish, Liszt. Didn’t you notice their accents and facial features?” I said, completely unaffected by their charm. I have never really been drawn towards the fairer sex, I suppose.

“I’m afraid not. But they were the most gorgeous little things. Such dainty and softness. Is everyone in Poland that splendid looking?”

“No, of course not, what would make you think such foolery? We’re just as diverse as the Frenchmen and Hungarians.” I sighed in disappointment. He really didn’t know better.

“Oh, it just seems that everyone I’ve met of that nationality, have elegant features like those girls.” He said looking me deeply in the eyes. At first, I was a bit confused, but then it hit me. 

I had to admit by the end of the walk, I had been wrong about Franz Liszt.


	3. A goodbye to him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chopin say goodbye to his new friend and admiration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Liszt is married by the time this takes place, I know, he was first married in 35 but shhh, it’s important to the plot or something I honestly don’t know.

6 January 1833, evening

When we were finally at my home, after a long time of talking, and to my big surprise actually enjoying each other’s company. We then stopped and said our goodbyes.  
“Well master Chopin-“  
“Chopin, please?” I smiled softly at him. After that long of talking, no such formalities were in order.  
“Well, Chopin, thank you for letting me walk you home on this most gorgeous night. It has been a pleasure to get to know you.” He said politely. 

I stood for some time, very sad to say goodbye.  
“Yes, it was very well, indeed, but the pleasure was all mine, Liszt. Please do come and visit me one day, would you. That would warm my little heart.”  
“I shall as soon as I can, don’t you worry. Bid whoever you see hello from me and enjoy yourself this most fine evening.”  
“I shall, and greet your wife from me. Goodbye, Liszt till we meet again.”  
“You too, Chopin! Goodbye for now”  
“Yea, goodbye”  
I stood not really knowing what to do or say, I was about to lean in and hug him, but I decided against it and, he was already well on his way out the door anyways. I went into my study and sat some time, pondering and sighing over myself.

This was the first time Frédéric Chopin, consciously realized he was jealous of what (or who) someone else had.

And the first time he found himself missing the company of self-absorbed, but caring and maybe a little nice Franz Liszt.

Seven years later his disease finally took the upper hand, and he died, not having said a word about his secret feelings to his friend he had known for many years.


End file.
